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I imagine irony to taste funny.

Only through
death
will your silenced words speak as
loud as you wished they would.
That's the only time people will
listen.
The message you’ve been
aching to get out
all your life
will only be recognized after you’re
gone.
It’s the
only way.
So maybe
that’s why people die young.
Although their voices are
already silenced, but in a
different way,
they realize that the
only way others will listen is through
permanence.

But isn’t it funny;
You won’t be there to witness your
recognition, your
fame.
Just like
Sylvia Plath,
Edgar Allen Poe,
Emily Dickinson,
Vincent van Gogh, and
Pachelbel’s Canon.
Look at all of this
recognition, this
fame they got.
All AFTER the tragedy of their
deaths.
Nobody cared to
pay attention at first.
But now that they’re
gone,
it’s all
so much more valuable.
Oh, the irony.

But I think it would be
worth it, at least for
me.
It would be
bittersweet, and it would be
tragic.
All of those people that
hated me, they would
finally feel remorse.
HE would realize what he
could’ve had.
Finally, people would
appreciate me.
Finally, I would be
loved.
Missed.
Noticed.
It’s all so
selfish, but
I’m allowed my
guilty pleasures...
right?

All I want is to be
loved.
No matter the cost.





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